Classic Poem

How happy you who vary'd Joys persue,
And every Hour presents you something new!
Plans, Schemes, and Models, all Palladio's Art
For six long Months has gain'd upon your Heart,
Of Colonades, and Corridores you talk,
The winding Stair case, and the cover'd Walk,
Proportion'd Colums strikes before your Eye,
Corinthian Beauty, Ionian Majesty,
You blend the Orders with Vitruvian Toil
And raise with wondrous Joy the fancy'd Pile.
But the dull Workman's slow-performing Hand
But coldly executes his Lord's command,
With Dirt and Mortar soon you grow displeas'd,
Planting Succeeds, and Avenues are rais'd,
Canals are cut, and Mountains Level made,
Bowers of retreat, and Gallerys of shade.
The shaven Turf presents a living Green,
The bordering Flowers in Mystic knots are seen.
With study'd Art on Nature you refine—
The Spring beheld you warm in this Design,
But scarce the cold attacks your favourite Trees,
Your Inclinations fail, and wishes freeze,
You quit the Grove, so lately so admir'd,
With other views your eager Hopes are fir'd,
Post to the City you direct your way,
Not blooming Paradice would bribe your stay,
Ambition shows you Power's brightest Side,
'Tis meanly poor in Solitude to hide,
Tho certain Pain attends the Cares of State,
A Good Man owes his Country to be great,
Should act abroad the high distinguish'd Part,
Or shew at least the purpose of his Heart;
With Thoughts like these, the shining Court you seek
Full of new projects for—allmost a Week.
You then Despise the Tinsel glittering Snare;
Think vile Mankind below a serious Care:
Life is too short for any distant Aim,
And cold the dull reward of Future Fame.
Be happy then; while yet you have to live:
And Love is all the Blessing Heaven can give;
Fir'd by new passion you address the fair,
Survey the Opera as a gay Parterre,
Young Cloe's bloom had made you certain Prize
But for a sidelong Glance of Cœlia's Eyes,
Your beating Heart acknowledges her power,
Your eager Eyes her lovely form devour,
You feel the Poison swelling in your Breast
And all your Soul by fond Desire possess'd.
In dying sighs a long three hours is past,
To some Assembly with Impatient haste,
With trembling Hope and doubtfull Fear you move,
Resolv'd to tempt your Fate, and own your Love:
But there Bellinda meets you on the Stairs.
Easy, her Shape, attracting all her Airs,
A smile she gives, and with a smile can wound,
Her melting voice has Music in the Sound,
Her every Motion wears resistless Grace,
Wit in her Mien, and Pleasure in her Face;
Here while you vow Eternity of Love,
Cloe and Cœlia unregarded move.
Thus on the Sands of Affric's burning plains
However deeply made no long Impress remains,
The lightest Leaf can leave its figure there,
The strongest Form is scatter'd by the Air,
So yeilding the Warm temper of your Mind,
So touch'd by every Eye; so toss'd by every Wind,
O how unlike has Heaven my Soul design'd!
Unseen, unheard, the Throng around me move,
Not wishing Praise, insensible of Love,
No Whispers soften, nor no Beautys Fire,
Careless I see the Dance, and coldly hear the Lyre.
So numerous Herds are driven o're the Rock,
No print is left of all the passing Flock,
So sings the Wind around the solid stone,
So vainly beats the Waves with fruitless moan,
Tedious the Toil, and great the Workman's care
Who dare attempt to fix Impressions there.
But should some Swain more skillfull than the rest
Engrave his Name on this cold Marble Breast
Not rolling ages could deface that Name—
Through all the storms of Life tis still the same,
Tho length of Years with moss may shade the Ground
Deep thô unseen remains the secret wound.